Chapter 22
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Mateo
Florian is in the gym.
He’s on the treadmill. He’s running quickly, and for a moment I stare at his muscular, powerful body. Sweat glistens from his limbs.
Some of the players notice me. They lower their weights. I’m allowed to use this gym, but not when the team is here. Some look confused, others smirk, like I’m so in love that I can’t bear to be apart from Florian until lunchtime.
“Florian?”
Florian almost falls off the treadmill.
Fuck.
His eyes widen, his face reddens. He looks around.
He’s probably wondering who noticed—everyone, unfortunately, and who might tell Coach.
I force myself to giggle. “You’re a goofball, Florian. Always making me laugh.”
His eyes round, then he nods rapidly. “Yes.”
“Can we speak?” I ask.
His face pales. “Okay.”
The others stare as we hurriedly leave the room. I’m not sure that my quick thinking fooled them. I’m sure Florian hates me more.
I open the door of the massage room, and he follows me inside. “Sorry! I shouldn’t have disturbed you. I’m so sorry.”
He regards me.
“I-I just saw Troy, and he still thought we were together, and I thought we should, um, maybe talk about what we want to say?” I glance at the clock.
“Before my 11:00 appointment. In seven minutes. I’m sorry.
Maybe you should want to leave. Probably you just want to leave.
I’m, uh, sorry I startled you on the treadmill.
And I’m sorry about everything else too.
Obviously. Well, maybe not that obviously. To you. Obviously to me.”
Florian narrows his gaze, like he’s not happy.
Which also totally makes sense.
Why would he be happy?
“Mateo,” he says sternly. “We have six minutes until your appointment.”
I quiet.
“I did not tell the team members,” he says. “You are right. It is…” His face contorts, and I hate it. I hate that I’ve made him upset. I hate it so much. “Embarrassing.”
I frown.
That wasn’t exactly the thing I thought he would be sad about.
“Do you want me to tell them?”
“No. It was my mistake.”
“It wasn’t! You were brain damaged.”
He flinches. He probably doesn’t want to be reminded of that.
“You must hate me,” I say.
“I did not give you a proper chance to correct the mistake. And now everyone will know we are not dating. That is embarrassing. And I embarrassed myself in front of you.”
“You didn’t.”
He gives me a soft smile.
“Would it help—” I press my lips together.
No. It’s absurd. He wouldn’t want that. He wants to change back time, certainly. He wants to not have declared to the world that he’s dating his team’s massage therapist. He doesn’t want…
I inhale. I need to ask him. Maybe he’ll say the solution is ridiculous. Probably that’s exactly what he’ll say.
Still. I need to know. He needs to know this is an option.
“Would you like to pretend to be dating?” I ask.
He blinks.
I want to sink into the floor. I don’t, because that’s not the way floors work. At least the kinds that don’t have sinkholes appearing at strategic times.
“It’s silly,” I say. “Sorry.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean—” I draw in a deep breath of air.
Florian is right.
Even though I put a lot of effort into making this place relaxing, the eucalyptus scent and calming music are ineffective barriers against the panic seizing through my veins.
Florian watches me.
“It’s a good thing that you are remembering things,” I say.
He looks at me warily.
“For your career,” I say. “You’ll be able to be on the ice faster.”
“Yes.”
“And your general health,” I say. “Short-term amnesia is better than long-term amnesia.”
He is quiet, but he gives me a small nod.
I wonder if he’s been thinking about all the risks of long-term brain damage that I have. All the risks for the future.
“If you want... And you might not want this at all—this is up to you, but I want to give you the option—”
He watches me.
I feel ridiculous.
I can’t be about to offer to fake date one of the most eligible men in Boston, can I? He makes so much more money than I do. And he’s gorgeous, and…
“If you want, we can keep on telling people that we’re dating,” I say.
“Oh.” He sits back in his seat. “I see.”
“It’s a suggestion, Florian. You don’t have to accept it.”
“Perhaps…” He hesitates.
“Are you gay?” I ask him.
He looks at me. “I did not make that obvious enough to you for the past few days?”
My cheeks warm.
“I am gay, Mateo,” Florian says. “I did not realize that I was making you lie to so many people. I am so very sorry.”
“Florian, you shouldn’t be apologizing to me.”
“It did not sit well that you were the only person apologizing.”
“Oh, we’re going egalitarian here?” I chuckle.
He smiles back, and for a moment, I can forget all this mess.
Then he sighs, and his expression turns sad. “Would you mind if I accepted your proposal?”
“Of course not,” I say. “I enjoy spending time with you. I would be honored to be your pretend boyfriend.”